Paint it Over
by Alcoholics Anonymous
Summary: Roxanne is kept in her room all the time. Her parents are ashamed of her. When Roxanne escapes, the first place she goes is the opera house, where she has been longing to go. See what happens next by reading.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own phantom at all.

**Paint it over **

As a child, my existence seemed meaningless. I came from noble birth, but it seemed to help me little.

As a child, to say I was energetic was an understatement. I was manic. But that was only half the time. The rest of my hours were spent in lethargy and depression. And because of that I was discriminated. Perhaps the only sympathy I got was from my family, who knew about my disease, but refused to throw me in the madhouse. I later found out this was only for their reputation. What would people think if a man of high standing's daughter was a lunatic?

As a child, I was alone most of the time. I had always had a tutor for my studies, but it got to the point where no one would teach me anymore because of my unpredictable mood swings and tantrums. I resorted to teaching myself. I read to keep myself occupied and I read to keep myself from becoming truly mad.

As a child, I was an artist. That was the thing I loved more than anything. I loved getting lost in the drawing, pretending I was running in the meadow with the wild stallions at my side.

As a child, I wasn't really a child. When one looked at me, they would see the body of a girl. But what no one saw was my soul. I never fit my age. Whenever I looked into a mirror, I would see an old woman looking back at me, but simply from my eyes. I'm not even sure why. Maybe what makes the mad, mad, also gives them some sort of spirit undetected by others.

That is, except those with the same spirit.

The year my family became a patron of the opera house, they went to many operas, always leaving me behind. I was locked in my chamber whenever they went out.

"Be a good girl, Roxanne and we'll bring you back a pastry," my mother would say to me as if I was still three and could be excited by pastries.

"I don't want a pastry," I would say, usually from my window seat where I looked out. I would watch the activities of "normal" people. People going about their daily errands, people out seeing other people. I wanted to be part of it.

No, it wasn't the people I wanted to part of, I didn't like people. I wanted to be part of the world. One should note that at this time I wasn't allowed to go out of the house.

Then my mother would leave without another word. And then I heard the click of the door locking. I was trapped. My balcony was 3 stories high, unless I wanted to die, that would serve no useful purpose, and my door was locked. All I had was my chamber and a small bathroom.

I shifted on my seat by the window creating wrinkles in the silk sleeping gown I wore. Then I got down and went back to my painting. Right now I didn't even know what I was painting. I just slopped color on the canvas in generous globs, trying somehow to get an inspiration.

I opened my bottle of turpentine just to smell it. I loved that scent. Artists became used to it and learned to love it.

I put more red paint onto my palette. And I began to paint a face. Yellow, and blue, and green, and orange and any other color I could think of. I worked for hours, perfecting everything. I was a relatively fast worker.

Finally satisfied, I moved my easel over to the corner to allow my painting to dry.

I heard my door click again. I looked up to see my little sister with a bag in her hand.

The room was dark because I hadn't turned on my lamp yet but I knew it was her because of her short height. She approached me.

"Mother brought this for you." She handed the bag up to me. Slowly I took the bag and opened it.

An apple pastry.

I looked up to my sister from the bag. I walked over to my balcony door, and walked out. It was snowing and it was cold, but I went out anyway. Then I threw the bag as far as I could. I turned back to face my sister.

She just stared. Then silently she left.

"Can nobody speak to me?" I said quietly. It was at the point where people rarely spoke to me. The only human voice that I knew was my own. The rest were strangers. Why couldn't I hear a voice? Why couldn't anyone talk to me without being afraid? _I'm not insane_ I thought. _I'M NOT!_ I thought again, but this time I thrashed my arms and accidentally sent my freshly done painting to the ground ruining it.

"I'm not…" I said feeling the tears come to my eyes and not even bothering to fight them.

But everyone and everything seemed to disagree. My parents, when I threw tantrums. My sister, when I yelled. Even the ruined painting stared back with disapproving eyes.

I stood in the corner, oil paint from the painting covering my hands. It was red oil paint, the color I used the most of.

I stared at my hands. Blood. It was blood.

"I must be dead." I said. I walked back over to my balcony. "If I'm dead, I must not matter. I won't matter to anyone…" I put a foot on the edge of the balcony. Then another foot. Then I lost my balance.

Falling through the air, I felt more free than I ever had. I was flying. All too soon I hit the bushes that had surrounded the house. I meant to hit the ground. And die truly.

Now that I was out and I was still alive, I ran to the front of the gate and quietly I let myself out.

I felt the snow all around me as I walked away from the only home and jail I had ever known. Luckily, it was late and very snowy. This kept me from being seen, partly because it was so snowy but partly because it was so late.

Now that I was out here, I didn't know where to go. I thought briefly about going back home, but to face them after jumping off a balcony, I would definitely earn a beating for that.

I finally decided on going to the place that I wanted desperately to go to but was denied the privilege. The opera house. How I wanted to hear an opera. I often heard my sister playing the piano at home and although she wasn't the best player, I strained my ears to listen just to catch a note or a few more.

We lived reasonably close to the opera house so I wasn't in for too much of a walk. But the cold was beginning to get to me. I was afraid that my feet now had frostbite; I was barefooted.

When I reached the opera house, I stood at the top of the steps and looked out behind me. I could still see the top of my house above the others. It made me sick, to know that I could see my house anywhere. I couldn't be rid of it.

At this point, I didn't even know if I was going back or not.

I turned my attention back to the opera house. I pulled on the door, expecting it to be locked. For some reason it wasn't. _Maybe they don't lock it _I thought.

After a little tugging, I got the large door open enough for me to fit through.

The inside was very beautiful. I now knew why everyone talked about it. It was amazing.

I made my way into the main part of the building. There was such art around me. I walked down the isle and headed toward the stage. I managed to get onto the stage by jumping to it where the opening to the pit was small.

For a long time I had been depressed but right now, thoughts of depression were far away. I danced by myself on the stage, twirling around so that my gown flared out about me. I laughed.

Then I started to become tired and I sat down, my legs straight out in front of me. I had been taught that it was undignified to sit like that. But I didn't care. No one was here to stop me.

I got up again, keen for more exploring. But before I got to do that, I felt my legs falter then give out beneath me. I guess I was still worn out from all the dancing and the walk in the cold. I fell but managed to keep myself from hitting my head. I was fine although I was sure I was going to have a lot of bruises the next day. I got myself back up and headed incoherently backstage. I was tired and weak and it was all I could do to walk.

Backstage, there were sets from many operas, costumes, props, millions of things that would have been fun to go through, But I didn't. I sat down in a corner. I wasn't even thinking. I just sat.

I didn't even see if coming, but within a few minutes someone walked up to me. I could see their feet, black shoed feet with trousers to match. Slowly I looked up. I found a mask, a white mask with golden eyes staring back at me.

"Who are you?" He asked. His voice was deep and smooth. I would imagine with a voice like that, it makes even angels jealous.

"Roxanne," I answered quietly.

"Roxanne…?"

"Delancy."

"As in Armand Delancy?"

"Yes, Monsieur, my father."

"I see…a patron of the opera, am I correct?"

"Yes," The man crouched down to my level.

"What are you doing here? Wouldn't you rather be at home with your family?" He spat.

"I…well…no, Monsieur."

Just then the door to the main part of the opera opened. We could hear it. The man when over and looked behind the curtain.

"Policemen." He stated plainly. "Do you know why?"

"They must be after me, father must have sent them." I said as quietly as I could. "They probably followed my footsteps, maybe the snow didn't cover them up."

The man started to walk away.

"Wait!" I said. I scrambled up. "Where are you going?"

"That is none of your concern, I suggest that you go home with the policemen." He continued to walk.

"But father will beat me and then lock me in my room." The man stopped and turned.

"Beat you? Lock you in your room? What cause would he have for these cruel punishments?"

"He doesn't beat my sister if she does wrong, only me. He thinks I'm insane." I looked down. After a moment of silence, he finally spoke.

"Come with me then for now." He started walking toward one side. We reached a brick wall. I could hear the policemen's steps. They were getting closer.

"What are you going to…" I whispered and he shushed me with a finger. Suddenly, as if a door, part of the wall slid to the side revealing a passageway. He beckoned me through it then came after me. He shut the door and then went ahead of me.

The entire journey was dimly lit and wet and dirty, full of secret doors opening, trap doors leading to stairs, and basically, just a lot of doors. But it wasn't too long a journey, maybe 15 minutes. But I had a feeling he was going slower than usual. He seemed to know the opera house like the back of his hand.

And don't think me a fool, for I did know who he was. Of course he was the ever infamous Opera Ghost. I just wasn't aware he was still living.

We walked in silence and I found this a little unnerving.

Then it became pitch black; there were no more candles. We came out of the passage into a large room. There was a large lake. Who would have thought it, the opera house was built over a lake. I spotted a boat and the Opera Ghost was leading us to it.

"Get in." He said and I obeyed. He pushed us along in his gondola and I thought. I wasn't even sure why I was trusting him. Maybe because he offered me an escape, at least for tonight, to get away from my horrid family.

On the other side of the lake, there was a door in the wall. He opened it and led me in.

The room was beautiful, fully furnished in Victorian decor and Persian rugs.

"Come this way." I followed him down a hallway full of doors. He opened one of them. It was a pretty large room with a nice bed and a wardrobe, there was even a bathroom.

"Bathe." He ordered. "The come out, I want to speak with you. There are sleeping gowns in the wardrobe." The he closed the door and left. At first, it was a big shock, being in a stranger's house. But then I calmed down.

I went to the wardrobe to pick out a gown to wear. There were so many, not all sleeping gowns of course, but gowns in general. I was assuming that he didn't wear these, so who's were they?

I bathed, washing my brown hair in the large tub that I had filled with hot water. I was now clean, but the water was still warm and I didn't wish to get out. Eventually I did, remembering that he wanted to talk to me. I dressed and combed my hair. Then I went out to talk to him.

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	2. Chapter 2

Well, this is chapter two.

Disclaimer: I still don't own Phantom.

Slowly I went out to meet him, taking care not to touch anything. The last thing I wanted to do was anger him. He seemed the kind not to mess with.

I entered the drawing room and found him sitting there, doing nothing but sitting.

"Mademoiselle, you may be seated if you wish." I sat down immediately. I was afraid to disobey anything he said. I kept my eyes to the floor, not feeling bold enough to look at him.

As if he read my mind, he said "Look at me." I did. "Now tell me, why exactly can't you go home?"

"Monsieur," I said quietly, "I...well, you see, the problem is that I am incurable. I have some sort of disease. But it is not a disease of physicality, it is of my mind I'm afraid." He just sat and looked at me, obviously listening. I continued. "My mother and father have never tried to help me; all they tried to do is counter it. If I yelled, they would yell back and punish me. Anything I did would always end up with a whipping from father. And no one ever knew. I've been this way ever since I was a babe so they never talked about me or showed me to anyone. They were ashamed. I would learn at home from tutors, but eventually they would refuse to see me because of my behavior.

"My father used to yell at me, asking me the difficulty of being normal, telling me to be normal. Nothing ever worked. And now I can't go home because I jumped off my balcony and escaped from home. They'll throw me in the madhouse for sure. I would rather die then go there. But they would have good reason, I am insane."

I looked back down. He was silent for a moment. Then when I heard his voice, I looked up again.

"You're not insane. The insane don't admit to it." He was silent once more. I could tell he was studying my face. "What led you here?" He asked.

"I think it's because of my parents being patrons of the opera. They come here all the time, they always leave me at home though. I wanted desperately to see it for myself. I've never heard any music except the piano playing of my sister. And that I could barely hear anyway. The only way for me to listen was to put a glass to the door."

"It seems as if Rapunzel had finally escaped her tower." He said and put his hand to his chin. More silence. "How old are you?"

"Almost eighteen." I changed the subject. "What are you going to do with me?" I asked looking up.

"Well, I'm not sure, it is ultimately your choice."

I hesitated. I didn't really know. I couldn't stay here, I would be a burden and I couldn't just expect to stay with someone I had just met. But I didn't want to go home either. The only thing I could expect for sure when I got home was my father's belt.

"I don't want to go home," I began, "but I can't stay here either." I had no where to go. I was alone.

"Do you have any relatives? Perhaps that could take you in?"

"No. I have relatives, but they don't know anything about me nor do I want them to. If they knew how unpredictable my actions and thoughts were, they would never keep me. And if I lived with them, they would be bound to find out."

I started to become confused. I stood up and started backing away. He only watched.

"Why…why am I telling…why…what…where…can…go…I…don't…can't…" I knew what was happening. And it happened whenever I got anxious or panicked.

"Mademoiselle, you are being incoherent." The Opera Ghost slowly inched his way toward me. At the time, I was quite confused and frightened. Not of him, of what would happen to me. But that made me afraid of everything else I normally wouldn't have been scared of.

"I can't…can't…" I was mumbling very quietly to myself. And I was shaking, shaking so terribly that my hands visibly moved. I stared at my hands. They were still covering in red paint. "I'm dead…dead…I don't matter."

"No, you are alive. You are still warm, you are alive."

"Alive…" I repeated. "We're alive?"

He paused. "Yes, we're alive."

I honestly don't remember what happened after that point. I woke up and found myself in the large bed in the room I was given.. The sheets were pulled up to my chin and I was warm.

I pulled my hands out to look at them. The red paint was gone.

I thought about what had happened, about my sudden panic. I felt embarrassed. I hated it when it happened but I could do nothing to stop it. I stepped out of my bed and went to the bathroom. My dark wavy hair was as rumpled as it had ever been. I tried to straighten it with my hands (I couldn't find a brush).

I finished the best job I could manage and then I went to my door, preparing to go out. I opened the door quietly and looked out. I couldn't see anyone. But then I noticed something. I could faintly hear…music. It was a sad sound, but beautiful. So filled with emotion. Much better than the mediocre playing of my sister. It was coming from one of the doors in the hallway. Of course, curiosity got the better of me and the voice that told me to leave the Opera Ghost alone was promptly quieted.

I opened the door but no one was in this one. There was another door in this room and the music was definitely coming from that one.

As silently as I could I opened the door. And I thought I opened it pretty quietly. But as soon as it was opened, although the Opera Ghost had his back to me, he spoke.

"Do you need something, Mademoiselle?"

"Well, no, I just heard the music and I wanted to listen." I said embarrassed and ashamed that I had disrupted him.

"You may listen if you wish then, there are seats over there." I closed the door and quickly took a seat. He started up playing again. He was playing the violin. The bittersweet sounds filled the room with perfect pitch. I watched him as he played, his fingers quickly jumping from one string to the next; the bow moving with grace. I was in awe. The Opera Ghost was playing so beautifully. And I wasn't even afraid of him, the notorious killer that he was.

When he finished I just sat there for a moment, then spoke.

"That was amazing. It was so emotional." I said in almost a whisper.

"Thank you, but you don't have to give me compliments."

"But you deserve them," I said back.

He was silent. Then he loosened his bow and put it back in its case, followed by the violin itself. He moved with such a grace. He spoke with the voice of someone not of this earth; he could play amazingly, creating such feelings within me; and he even moved as if he was divine.

"Everything about you seems to be beautiful." I said then instantly regretted it for he looked at me, and while I couldn't see his face, I could see his eyes and they stung me with a fury even stronger than the emotional value of his music.

"Don't ever say that. Don't you ever! How dare you! To make assumptions about me? After I helped you? I could put you right back up on that stage, I would carry you, kicking and screaming, and I would leave you there, begging for mercy, but you would receive none. Don't you ever say that again or I swear to God I'll leave you up there and let your father find you! Now go!"

Quickly I ran to the door and left him standing there, breathing heavily. I went back to my room and shut the door.

Now I was afraid. Afraid of what he said. Afraid of what I said. I wasn't even sure why he had gotten so angry.

I tried to put myself in the same position. If someone who didn't know me said I was beautiful in every way, I would feel…I would feel angry myself. Because they wouldn't know of my disease. They wouldn't know my faults and my disfigurements. Granted, they were all disfigurements of the soul. And then I understood.

Something about him must really hurt him; something about him causes him grief and misery. Was that the mystery of the mask? I told myself I wouldn't bring it up again, unless he did.

Several hours later, I had a knock at my door.

"Come in…" I said in a small voice, pulling my knees up to hug my arms around them. It was him.

"Mademoiselle…" he began. "I apologize for my earlier outburst, it was quite rude of me." He said, obviously saying this only for my benefit.

"No, Monsieur, it is entirely my fault. It wasn't my place. It was too bold of me." I put my head down so I couldn't see him. "I wouldn't blame you if you threw me out right now." A few tears slipped out as I looked back at him. His eyes softened a bit but then went back to their original state.

"I have no intention of doing any such thing." His voice became less forced. "Now, you haven't eaten for hours, I'm assuming you're hungry?"

I hadn't thought of that. Then come to think of it, I was hungry. "Yes…"

"Come with me." I followed him and after a lunch of bread and butter, I felt a lot better.

"Aren't you going to eat?" I asked.

"I'll eat later." He replied, crossing his legs. He sat across the table from me and it was a bit awkward eating while he watched me.

I was still curious about him.

"Monsieur?"

"Yes?"

"What…what is your name?"

"Erik." He said. I smiled. "What, may I ask, cause that reaction?"

"Oh, nothing." What I didn't tell him was that Erik had always been my favorite name. In fact, ever since I was 12, I had wanted to name a son that.

He said nothing and continued to stare at me.

"Mademoiselle…"

I rudely cut him off. "Can you please call me Roxanne? No one does anymore, not even my own parents. They don't…talk to me."

"Roxanne…" He said, testing the name out. "Roxanne, I was wondering, what do you plan to do with your life?"

No one had ever asked me that question before. I guess it was assumed that I wouldn't do anything with my life. No ever thinks a lunatic is better for anything than to sit in a room all day.

"Let me ask another question, if you could do anything with your life, what would it be?"

I thought about this for a moment.

"I want to be a painter." I stated, looking at him.

"Ah, so we do have an artist here. Actually, it doesn't surprise me, many great artists, musicians, and writers had similar problems as yours. Such as Michelangelo, Tchaikovsky, and Mary Shelly."

I had heard of all these people from my studies. But I didn't know this. Strangely, it made me happy. To know that I wasn't alone in this vast sea of emptiness. A smile crept onto my face.

"Why this time?"

I complied. "It makes me feel better, to know that I'm not the only one."

"My dear, of course you're not. There are plenty more people out there, Beethoven, Handel, Charles Baudelaire, Edgar Allen Poe, for heaven's sake even…" He stopped abruptly. "Well, yes, I think I've listed quite enough for you to understand."

I didn't think anything of him stopping like that then. I just was thinking about the names he did list.

"I'm not alone…maybe if I go to heaven I'll meet them."

"If?" He questioned.

"I'm Agnostic." I said. His eyes looked a bit surprised. "I studied about it in a book." I explained.

"I see, I myself am an Atheist."

"Each to his own.."

"Indeed." We sat there in silence.

"Roxanne, since you have allowed me the privilege of addressing you by your name, I find it only fair I return the same privilege to you. You may call me Erik."

"Erik…" I said, trying out his name like he did mine. "I like that."

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	3. Chapter 3

**Dislcaimer: No...I do NOT own Phantom...cries **

It's a little shorter than usual. Sorry!

Chapter 3

I sat at the desk in the room Erik had let me use. I was sketching. Erik had given me some charcoal and paper, saying that he was partially an artist as well.

I was drawing bodies of women, naked bodies. Perhaps not considered proper for a lady to draw, but I did anyway. My women had long dark hair and round faces and plump lips. This was basically the only way I found comfort. I drew the curve of one woman's waist, achieving the perfect line.

It had been 3 days since Erik brought me to his home. And I looked back on the last few days, it all seemed like a dream. Who would ever imagine staying in the Opera Ghost's home?

I drew a woman's face. She had big eyes and long hair. But her face was sad. I seemed to project all my emotions into the expressions of my people. I couldn't help it, I was sad. I wasn't even sure why. I had been given an escape, if not forever at least for today.

Then, jolting me out of my thoughts, Erik knocked.

"Come in," I said. He opened the door to my room. The door squeaked.

"I was just wondering as to what kept you occupied for so long, you've been quiet for hours."

"Oh, I'm just sketching." I said putting down the charcoal and turning to look at him.

"May I see?" He said. He came to stand beside me.

"I guess, they aren't the best of course." I handed the drawing up to him. He examined it, his yellow eyes darting back and forth across the paper.

"The anatomy is excellent. Do you require books?"

"Books?"

"Art books, I have many, they're in my library. I'll take you, but before we go, wash your hands." I looked at my hands. They were covered in charcoal.

"Yes, of course." I went to the bathroom, shut the door, and started to wash my hands, running the jasmine scented soap over my fingers.

But suddenly in the corner of my eye, I caught movement. I turned but whatever moved was always out of my vision. All at once, it came into my view.

My father.

I screamed and threw the bar of soap at him. I then tried to step backwards and fell; my hands had dripped soapy water onto the floor. Then in the blink of an eye my father was gone.

Without knocking, Erik quickly entered the bathroom.

"What happened?" He asked urgently.

I must have still been delusional for I just sat there for a moment. He asked me again; this time I answered.

"I saw my father, he was there." I pointed to where I had thrown the soap. He looked over but obviously saw nothing.

I heard him mumbling to himself. "Hallucinations…" he said. Then he helped me up and helped me finish washing my hands. Then he led my to my bed. I sat down and shamelessly started crying. I had regained my sense by this time.

"I'm so sorry, I'm sorry," I said over and over. He said nothing. I was afraid I was being a terrible burden on his normal lifestyle.

I put my bare feet on the rug at the foot of the bed and walked out the bedroom door. I made it to the front door. I stood there, my hand on the latch.

"Where are you going?" Erik asked. I hadn't even known that he followed me.

"I'm leaving."

"Where will you go?"

"I…" I hadn't really thought about that, "I don't know, I just can't stay here any longer, I'm troubling you." I opened the door and stepped out onto the rocks that were right outside his house. I turned back to look to him. "Will you take me back to the surface?"

"This is what you want?" He said, "You want to go back?"

"Yes, yes, I have to leave." I choked out. Then without another word, he took me back to the main level of the opera house.

There was no opera on tonight, it was Sunday and darkness shrouded the stage and the isles and the seats.

When we reached the top, I looked at him once more. "Thank you for all you have done." He said nothing. "Goodbye, Erik."

"Goodbye, Roxanne." I smiled slightly and I changed my direction to head to the front door of the opera house. I looked back behind me once more, but by that time he had gone.

I walked down the isle, dreading what would happen to me. _I should have stayed with him_ I thought, _I would have been much safer with him._ I kept walking though. After what seemed like an eternity, I came outside.

It was dark but not snowy. I looked up to see the stars twinkling down on me. I was scared but at least I was free. But not for long. Because within minutes of me leaving the opera house, several policemen grabbed me.

I screamed and fought against them, trying to get away. But in the end, I was dragged to my house.

"Thank you, Monsieur, my daughter was just a little upset, I hope she didn't trouble you too much." My father was always polite to other people and to my mother and my sister. It was just me he was terrifying to.

I was taken inside and one of the maids brought me to my room. I knew that it wasn't the end of it. I knew any minute I could expect my father.

Just as I had finished this thought, the door opened revealing the one person I hated more than anyone. I backed away, but he cornered me. I saw him slip his black belt out of the loops and he slowly approached me.

That second, I made a vow, that I wouldn't talk to him, I wouldn't answer any questions, and I most certainly wouldn't yell as he whipped me.

"Where have you been?" He asked in a mock calm voice.

I said nothing.

"Where have you been?" My father asked again putting emphasis on the word "where."

I looked down at my feet and still refused to answer.

"Fine, you won't talk? I'll make you talk," He sneered at me. That instant with his free hand he grabbed my long dark hair and threw me to the ground on my hands and knees. That's when the first lash came.

I felt a sharp pain as his belt came into contact with my back. Over and over again, the pain came. But whatever came, I didn't make a sound.

At last, it stopped. And he left, not saying anything else.

I lay on the floor, still in pain, almost unable to move. I touched my back and I felt wet. Blood. Just more scars to add to my collection.

I thought I saw a movement in the corner of my eye. No. Not again. No more hallucinations. I looked in the direction that I saw it. But it wasn't a hallucination at all.

Outside the glass door to my balcony, there were two glowing orbs. Two glowing yellow orbs.

Back in Erik's home, I lay on my stomach, my gown pulled down baring my back. Erik was washing my back with a warm washcloth. But I was barely aware. All I knew was that there was a small stinging pain in my back and it didn't hurt nearly as much as the belt did.

When Erik finished, he turned around to allow me to pull up my gown again.

"I'm done," I said and he turned back. "How did you know?" I asked.

"After you left, I went to the roof to watch you. I saw you taken by the police and after that I just followed your footprints."

"I'm such a fool," I said in a whisper.

"Yes, you are," He said. I tried to get up but lost my strength and landed back on the bed. "I had no idea it was so bad. I knew it must be bad enough, but your father is such a beast. Excuse me, but that man, if he can even be called that, is a beast. Look how much he has harmed you, you have scars on top of scars. No young girl should ever have to endure such cruelty."

I didn't know what to say so I remained quiet.

"Is there anything else you will require this evening?"

"No, thank you, Erik."

With that he shut off the lamp and left me alone. I just lay there for a while, my mind blank. There was still a faint pain but it was fading. And so was my fear.

"Faintly I smell the color," I recited.

"Faintly I see the love.

Faintly I wish to be in it.

It's something I was void of.

'Paint it over' she told me.

'Paint it with love'

Now I sit, painting it over.

I paint my life over."

It was a poem I once read in my books, I couldn't remember the author. I don't know why I thought of it at that moment and I don't know how. But that was what I was going to do. Paint it over.

Okay, that's the next part! I hope you like it, as for the crappy poem, I wrote it myself, I am just talented like that. Shya, right. Anyway, I hope you like it! And remember, reviewing is good!


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: No, I do not own Phantom **

Chapter 4

The next morning I woke up in such a terrible agony. The many lashes on my back stung with remembrance of the day before. Perhaps the pain wasn't all from the physical punishment but from my mental state as well.

After much moaning and groaning, I succeeded in raising myself from the bed. I went to the bathroom and straightened out my hair, making it neater than it was before, and I left my room.

I could smell eggs frying from the kitchen and I assumed Erik was in there. So I followed the smell to the kitchen, walking cautiously so as not to hurt myself.

Hard as I tried, I could never be quiet enough because no matter what, Erik always heard me approaching him.

"Hello Roxanne, good morning." He said, his back to me.

"Good morning." I said back.

He put a fried egg on a plate and put it in front of me and handed me a fork.

"How is your back?" He asked while sitting down across from me.

"Painful, but at least I'm alive." Erik put his hand to his chin.

"Amazing, that someone who has gone through so much torture, can still appreciate living and want to continue."

"I guess you could say I had a revelation."

"How so?"

"Last night, I thought of this poem that I once read in my books. It goes like this:

Faintly I smell the color,

Faintly I see the love.

Faintly I wish to be in it.

It's something I was void of."

He joined in.

"'Paint it over' she told me.

'Paint it with love'

Now I sit, painting it over.

I paint my life over." We finished in unison. I smiled and I could feel that we both had an understanding.

"It's a beautiful poem," he said.

"I used to think of it a lot, hoping that somehow my life would get better if I tried to make it like that." I sighed and took a bite of my egg.

"Try."

"I will, someday, everything will be just the way I want it.

"I'm sure it will be." He said, his voice carrying a kind message.

"Why do you treat me so well?" I asked.

"Because you're a naïve babe." He said without a hint of humor. I pouted. And he laughed. It wasn't a loud laugh, just a quiet one. It was the first one I had ever heard out of him. It was almost nice to see that he had this side as well.

About a week passed, this time without any hallucinations or fits of panic.

Erik had shown me his library and allowed me access to it whenever I felt the need, which happened to be quite often. As Erik soon learned, I was quite eager to learn. Because my books at home were limited to basic subjects, I took a pleasure in learning the more eccentric ones.

As for Erik, his disposition toward me had changed slightly. The only noticeable change was that he now referred as me "ma biche" that could be translated as "my doe." I had often heard my father and mother refer to my sister as their "petit chou," little cabbage, another French term of endearment.

To me these names were unfamiliar. But not unwelcome. I assumed that maybe we were friends. And I liked the thought. Friends. Something I had been deprived of ever since I was born.

"Ma biche? Are you hungry?" He asked one day while I was reading in the library. I looked up.

"Yes, Erik." I said and closed my book.

"Come on then," He said and we went into his kitchen..

He had already set up a place at the table with some bread and jam. He gave me my first taste of jam when I came here. My parents refused to waste good food on me, of course I wouldn't know the difference, I was insane.

I bit into the bread with raspberry jam smeared on top.

"Are you enjoying it, ma biche?"

"Yes, it's delicious." I took another bite. "Erik, are we," I hesitated, "friends?"

He thought a moment. "Yes, I suppose we are."

"Can I ask you another question?"

"Of course,"

"Why is it that you live all alone? You've been so kind to me and I can't understand why anyone wouldn't want to be around you."

He stayed quiet. I wondered if I had said something wrong again. "Roxanne…you see, I think you know who I am." I was confused. "I am the Opera Ghost, you know this, right? I'm not going to pretend to be who I'm not. I do that for nobody. So I will tell the truth. I'm sure you also know that I'm a murderer." I did know this, but to hear him confirm it in his own words brought a reality to it.

"I don't want to scare you and I would never harm you; no matter how angry I get, no matter how much I yell, I wouldn't hurt you. I'll try to control my temper as best I can so as not to frighten you, you've seen too much yelling and anger. I got there just in time to watch your father finish beating you. But I couldn't kill him, much as I felt the urge. That's because if your family came and found him dead and you gone, they would assume that you had done it.

"As for one of the primary reasons…I'll tell you eventually, I'm not sure if I'm ready to say yet so I'll remain silent. I must seem so obscure to you and I apologize for that. It's because I haven't seen anyone in years nor have I used my voice this much. The most I would speak was just to practice singing and speak to the man who brings me my groceries. But other than that I've been quiet for 2 years. I'm sure you been just as quiet, almost your whole life. Perhaps you know the loneliness I know."

"I would like to say I've felt such loneliness, but I don't know if I can truly say that. I assume you've known people, something which I have not. Because I have never had their presence for long, I can't miss them in their absence, it's what I have always known."

"That makes sense. But the strange thing is, I haven't known much of people either. It's the fact that when you've known even the smallest amount of love, you can't forget it." If I could have seen his face, I'm sure he would have been smiling in a forlorn sort of way.

Then we heard a rapping coming from the front door. I jumped.

"It's only the man who brings my groceries," He said and I calmed down. "He comes every two weeks."

Erik went to the door and I stayed where I was. I heard him talk a little with the man then thank him and the door closed. I then went out into the main room. There were several cloth bags filled with various items sitting on the floor. I picked up two of them and brought them into the kitchen without him asking. He followed a few seconds after carrying the remaining bags.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome." I helped him take the things out of the bags and put them away. As we were, he asked me a question.

"That was brave of you…" He said finally, "Not to scream while he beat you."

"What made that come to your mind?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure why, ma biche, I just want you to know that it was incredibly brave."

After that he said no more. I could tell he was musing and I decided it would be best not to disturb him. I then went to my own room when we finished putting the groceries away.

I stayed in my room sketching for a little while. I was now doing portraits. Not of anyone in particular, just of any face that came to my mind.

I looked at the clock that hanged in my room. It was 11 PM. I decided that I was tired and got ready for bed.

Going out into the hallway, I meant to find Erik and wish him a goodnight like I usually did.

I walked out into the drawing room to see if he was there and I found him, sitting on the loveseat, slumped over a bit. He was muttering things that I could barely hear. He must have been asleep.

"Christine…" He said, "Go…you love that young man…go…leave poor unhappy Erik" I took another step and he quickly sat up and looked back at me.

"Erik? Are you alright?"

"Yes…I'm fine, I was just…just having a dream." But I could tell he wasn't fine for he was shaking and tears were running down his neck. He put his head in his hands and just sat there.

"Erik…" I came to sit beside him. "Really, are you alright? I'm here to listen if you need it." He cried for a little while longer and I sat by him the whole time.

"Roxanne?"

"Yes Erik?" I said.

"Do you know what it's like to kiss and be kissed?" I was almost surprised by the question.

"No."

"Neither did I til two years ago, a girl, Christine, let me kiss her forehead, and she kissed mine in return. And then I wept. I wept because I knew I couldn't keep her. I wanted her so much but I couldn't. I loved her but she loved another man. But she showed me that there is some good in the world. I hope someday you have the fortune of meeting someone who shows you the same thing."

"Someone already has," I said quietly and he turned to look at me, obviously understanding despite my vagueness.

Although I had only known him a week and several days, I felt attached to him. Perhaps because he took me out of that hell that I knew as the only way to live.

"Ma biche, you don't know what you're saying, there's plenty of good, kind, normal people out there to befriend you, perhaps you haven't found them yet, but I'm sure they're out there."

"But I like your friendship. It's the only one I've known, I have to protect it, I can't lose it." Then I thought a terrible thing. "Do I irritate you?"

"Irritate me? No, of course not. Why would I have gone after you if you irritated me?"

"I don't know…"

We sat with the sound of silence lying heavily in the air.

"Erik," I said, boldly putting my hand over his. "You make me happy."

And that's the chapter! Please review!


	5. Chapter 5

The next chapter!

**Disclaimer: No, I don't own phantom... **

chapter 5

Early in the morning I woke up. It was 4:30 AM. But I wasn't tired. I was happy. I went to the bathroom and started to draw a bath.

When I got in, the water was scalding hot, but I liked it. It was so hot that steam was rising from it

Last night, after I had told him that he made me happy, he had asked "But why?"

"Because you're my friend," I responded simply and I had a feeling no one had ever stated something of that nature so bluntly to him.

I looked around the many, many bookshelves that lined the inside wall of the library and much of the center of the room. Everything was in alphabetical order.

I was alone right now, Erik was practicing with his violin; I could hear it just barely. I hadn't seen him since the night before and thoughts of then still filled my mind, clouding it from any other thing that wished to enter.

Did he still love Christine?

It confused me. Apparently, Christine had left him for another man. But that's all I knew. And to kiss and be kissed, I didn't know anything of that. The word itself was foreign to me.

I felt pensive. The thoughts somehow saddened me. Was it the air of somber feeling that came from the story? Was it the fact that he had loved her and she left? Was that it?

I somehow thought I was being a bit intrusive by thinking about it this much but I was interested. Maybe more in the concept than anything else. I was interested in romantic love. What was it like?

In fact, love, what was that? I pulled out a dictionary. There were several entries but this one caught my eye.

A deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward a person, such as that arising from kinship, recognition of attractive qualities, or a sense of underlying oneness.

Oneness? I paged through the dictionary til I found the entry for that.

The quality or state of being one.

So a characteristic of love was unity. Perhaps to feel that you are completed by the other person. Even the description of love was appealing.

I put the dictionary back and continued looking. There were all sorts of books, but mostly reference books and books on information.

I was looking at the B section. All the authors began with B. Most of the books where things on train engines or the activity of animals. But one book was different than the rest. Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte? It was a small thick book, leather bound.

I picked it up and opened it.

"_There was no possibility of taking a walk that day." _It began. I was a bit interested. I had never read fiction before, I knew what it was but I'd never come across it. I decided to take it to my room and I did. I put it down on my desk and figured I'd read it later.

I went out into the drawing room and sat down. A few minutes later Erik came out and sat down beside me, but a little less than a foot away. He was holding a newspaper.

"Ma biche…Roxanne," He sighed. "There's something I should tell you."

"Yes?"

"Remember yesterday when that man brought my groceries?" I nodded, "He also bought me a newspaper, like he does every two weeks. I didn't read it until today, does your mother's name happen to be Claire?"

"Yes…why?"

"Claire Delancy," he paused as if he wasn't sure what my reaction was going to be, "is dead."

I didn't say anything.

"It doesn't say how, but it does say it was a medical problem."

To be reminded of her made me bitter. I didn't care that she was dead. She had patronized me, yelled at me, treated me as if I didn't matter, and stood to the side and watched while my father beat me. As far as I was concerned, her death meant as much to me as someone who I didn't even know.

"Sadly, none of my emotions but ones of resentment are involved. Maybe if she had been more of a mother to me, I would have felt differently."

"I understand," he said quietly, "my mother was the same to me." I decided not to press the matter; that seemed to be all he wanted to say about it.

And that was all I wanted to say about it as well.

So within about two weeks my life had changed drastically. I was now living with a man under the opera house, any thought of my parents or sister, long gone, despite the fact my mother had died

I was well into Jane Eyre. I had gotten to the part where Jane starts to realize that she is in love with Mr. Rochester.

The book was incredibly catching. It was probably one of the most pleasurable books I had ever read. Jane was a strong independent woman who grew up an orphan and then made a place for herself in the world. How I wished to do the same for myself, to become independent and free and to have a life for myself. Of course I had a life right now, but I couldn't forever leech off poor Erik.

But the sad thing about Jane's love is that it seems unrequited. Mr. Rochester leads on that he wants to marry another woman. A little later on in the book, Mr. Rochester confesses his own love for Jane. He explains that the reason he led her on was because he didn't know Jane's feelings for him.

The whole idea was so romantic that at this point in the book; I had cried several times. Erik still hadn't caught me reading the book and I was hoping that he wouldn't. Now that I knew what the book was about I would have been embarrassed.

Erik's and my friendship had grown fast. Perhaps it was because we found kindred spirits in each other. Something about Erik tortured him and my disease tortured me.

But something about me wasn't right. Ever since my mother had died, I was moodier than usual.

"Roxanne." Erik sneaked up behind me making me jump.

"What?" I said. He rarely called me by my real name nowadays.

"You haven't let go."

"What are you talking about."

"You haven't let go of your mother."

"Of course I have, she means nothing to me."

"Neither did my mother, but I was the same way as you when she died."

"And what exactly do you propose I do?" I think by this point I was being a bit rude, not just at this point, but in general. We were good friends but my moods sometimes go in the way.

"We're going to see your mother's grave."

"I don't want to." I glared at him.

"Well you're going. Remember what I once said about carrying you kicking and screaming? This applies here as well. Until you say goodbye to your mother, nothing will get better."

I pouted, trying to hold the face as long as I could without crying. But I couldn't for long. I cried.

"Ma biche, it'll be okay." He said. I tried to stop crying and after a few minutes I managed to. I looked up at him and his ochre eyes looked filled with concern. Cautiously he raised a hand and slowly reached out toward my face. But then he drew back. The only contact we had ever had was me holding his hand the night before and perhaps once when he carried me to my bed.

"Get your cloak," He went over to wait by the door. I retrieved it and we started for the surface.

Erik picked the lock to the horse stable. Outside it was nighttime.

"Do you know how to ride?" He asked me. I shook my head no.

"Okay, you'll have to ride with me." He helped me onto a grey horse and then got up himself behind me. He reached his arms around me to hold the reins. Being in such a close vicinity of him made me a bit shy and I felt awkward. But it wasn't a bad feeling, it was just new to me.

Erik prompted the horse into a gallop and while holding the reins he still managed to hold on to me. We sat in silence as the horse ran. We finally reached a large cemetery, which was the one all my family members were buried in. Erik got down and then lifted me off. He was quite strong for his lean frame.

It was a cold night. The stars were out, twinkling coldly just like the night I left Erik. Erik led the way, he was obviously very observant and he would probably notice my family's plot long before I would.

At last we found it. And we found the freshly disturbed earth. And a grave marker. One that read "Claire Delancy, missed wife and mother." Then it went on to list the dates of her birth and death. Of course there was a cross on the stone.

"I'll leave you." Erik walked a bit away, standing about fifteen feet away from me.

I Just stared at the marker. For ten minutes I just stood there and Erik just waited. Finally I spoke.

"You know, Mother, I never thought I would be here after you left. I told myself that I'd never visit your or father's grave. But here I am. Mother, I'm free now, you and father can't hurt me anymore. Do you know how much it hurt me? Everything you did. But most of all that fact that you watched while father abused me. When I most needed a mother, you weren't there. Why? Mother, ma Mere, I needed you. I wanted to love you. But the most kindness I got from you was when you would bring me pastries which I didn't even need or want. That's not what I needed. That's not what I wanted. I wanted and needed love.

"I guess Mother, it's made me who I am. And I don't know who that is yet, but one day I will, and I'll be stronger. Stronger than you and father. You both will never touch me again. Goodbye…ma Mere."

I turned and walked away to Erik.

"I'm done here." I told him.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," I said back. Erik once again reached out his hand and this time he stroked my hair once and it was so brief that I hardly knew whether it had happened or not.

Just as we both got on the horse, it began to snow big thick flakes. We began to ride, Erik once again holding me close to prevent me from falling. The horse slowly began increasing its speed until it was even faster than a gallop.

"Erik, why are we going this fast?" I said, my voice shaking from the rhythm of the horse.

"Quiet, ma biche."

Then all at once a loud cracking noise broke out. Erik's body hit mine but then he managed to sit up straight. I looked behind and someone was following us on a chestnut horse. I couldn't see them because their cloak covered their face.

I said nothing so as to heed his earlier instructions. We rode faster than we had been riding before and eventually managed to lose whoever it was by going the wrong way for a while then turning back once we were sure they were gone. But I was worried about Erik, he was now holding me looser than he had been in the beginning.

As we got closer to the opera house Erik slowed down the horse to cool it down. He put him away in his stable, threw a blanket over him, and gave him a pat.

"Come," He said. He gripped his upper arm with his other hand. We hurriedly went back down to the lower level. When we got in, I could finally see Erik's arm.

"Erik, you're hurt!" I said

His cloak, jacket, and shirt had been cut through, leaving a large bloody wound.

"It's nothing, it's not deep, the bullet only grazed my arm."

"Let me help you clean it up."

"No, ma cherie, I'll do it, I'll be back."

When Erik didn't return for nearly twenty minutes I began to become worried. I didn't know what I was scared of or what I thought could hurt him down here but I was worried. Maybe it was because he was already hurt.

I went down the long hallway to his room and knocked. "Erik?" I said tentatively.

"Yes?"

"Are you alright? You've just been awhile and I started to wonder."

"I apologize," He said opening the door a crack, just enough to let himself out. "I just became preoccupied."

He was wearing a loose renaissance poet shirt that bared his chest a bit.

I blushed and I think he noticed my embarrassment and started to become embarrassed himself and he quickly finished buttoning his shirt.

I changed the unsaid subject. "How is your arm?" I asked.

"It's better than it was, I applied some ointment to help it heal."

"That's good." I said, sort of preoccupied myself.

"That was your father wasn't it?"

"I was beginning to think the same thing. I recognized that horse as his. How do you think he knew though?"

"What I believe is that he followed the footsteps from the opera house. As you remember, he knew that you went to the opera house the first time you were gone so he must have assumed they were yours. But I'm not sure he knows who the other pair of footprints belonged to. As for why he was out, probably coincidence."

I don't know how but I started to be upset. My father had no right to hurt Erik, of course, he was probably going for me but why would he want me dead?

I gripped my head, my mind started racing with all different thoughts.

The beating. My dead mother. The pastry. My father's horse gaining on us. Erik's arm. My drawings. Jane Eyre. The cemetery. Erik's arms around me. Anger. Sadness. Love.

"No! Stop it!" I screamed and ran into the wall on accident and fell down. Erik sat down in front of me, his hands on my shoulders.

He began to sing for me. I don't remember exactly what it was, it was in a different language, but it sounded like a lullaby. I started to loosen up.

"Erik…" I said his name once and then was soothed to sleep.

that's the chapter! Tell me what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom**_  
_

Okay, I'd just like to thank all of you who gave me nice reviews. Although I prefer constructive criticism, compliments are nice as well.

As to some people who find it appropriate to post reviews on how much I suck, go ahead, tell me how bad it is, tell me it's the worst story in the world. But I would appreciate that if you're going to, tell me why it sucks, why it's the worst. Not just "OMG!THIS SUX!" But I'll have you know, you're not going to convince me to stop writing. Have a great day!

And about the Mary Shelley, Charlotte Bronte, I wasn't quite sure on the details of how their books were published. I'm sorry if I've made any mistakes.

_Chapter 6 _

_

* * *

_

_"No matter – a girl of your sense will not object to the voyage or the distance."_

_"Not the voyage, but the distance: and then the sea is a barrier--"_

_"From what, Jane?"_

_"From England and from Thornfield: and--"_

_"Well?"_

_"From **you**, sir."_

I closed the book. Mr. Rochester had just been telling Jane that she was going to have to be a governess for several children in Ireland. Jane didn't want to go. Jane was in love with Mr. Rochester.

I reread this part several times and although I was past it, I read it over and over. I don't know why because it made me sad each time I read it. But the part was beautiful. How simply Jane put it, but her feelings came across so well.

I put the book down and picked up my charcoal. I tapped my fingers against the table in an effort to help me think of something to draw. Nothing worked.

Finally I got an idea. I started out with two eyes, working them to the point of perfection. Then the shape of the face, then a body…then a mask. Yes, I was drawing Erik. I just wanted to know what his face looked like. And why he wore a mask all the time. Was he hiding something ?

Today marked a month since I had first set foot in Erik's house. An entire month. I wondered if my father was still looking for me. And I didn't care.

As for my mother, ever since the day at the graveyard, I was fine. I had more of a normal mood. Of course, I wanted it to have been different with my mother, to have her actually be my mother, but there was no changing the past and I would have to move on. There is no point in living in the past, it's not good for anyone.

And it seemed that upon coming here, my moods had altogether improved. Maybe they were better when I wasn't either ignored or terrorized.

I started shading, making Erik look three dimensional.

I was humming. Humming the song Erik had sung for me. It was beautiful, but I couldn't quite remember what he had been saying; all I knew was that it was in a different language. I had a feeling that Erik had written it himself. It was too passionate not to have been. And that's what he was: passionate. If there was one word to describe Erik, that would have been it.

Erik. My friend. I thought of that a lot. Just to remind myself that I did have reason to live whenever I felt there wasn't.

I looked up the word "friend" in the dictionary. It is defined as one who someone knows, likes, and trusts. There was also a bit of history on the word. The word literally meant "lover". And this puzzled me. I then looked up "lover" and found out that it meant "One who loves another, especially one who feels sexual love." And I was sure it didn't mean that in our case.

I wasn't even that sure what sexual meant. So of course, I looked it up. "Implying or symbolizing erotic desires or activity." And then after one more word, I understood the entire business. "Erotic: Of or concerning sexual love and desire."

So basically, there were two definitions of friend. A relation of kinship and one of sexual love. I hadn't even thought too hard on what I was looking up. But when I thought of the second definition of friendship, I blushed. And I'm not even sure why. That didn't apply to me in any way.

Did it? I didn't know what constituted "sexual love." Did you have to be in a relationship in which sex was involved to have a sexual love

No. Of course it didn't apply. Erik and I were friends. Strictly the kind with just an understanding and trust. We weren't even romantically involved, let alone sexually.

The next time I saw Erik, which was in the drawing room, I asked him something.

I sat down across from him. He looked distracted by something.

"Erik?"

"Yes?" He said, seeming to be thrown out of some thoughts.

"I'm sorry, am I disturbing you?"

"No, believe me, I'll tell you when you're disturbing me." He chuckled a bit, showing me some of the rare laughter of his.

"Anyway, my question…it might be a little personal, can I still ask?"

"Yes, but I won't guarantee an answer."

"Well, you've experienced the emotion love, what is it like?"

At that he sighed and sat back in his chair.

"Of all the questions, ma biche…"

"You don't have to answer--" I started to say but he interrupted me.

"No, it's not that, it's just that it's an awfully hard question to answer. I'll do the best I can." He sat a few minutes before beginning to speak.

"Love, well, it's almost like this. You're in the darkness, you can't see anything, but the thing is, you don't realize that you can't see because you've never seen. And then one day you see a small light in the distance. It's the first thing you've ever seen so you try to make your way toward it. And at that point, there are two outcomes. Either the light engulfs you and you begin to be the light or the light goes out and you never see the same light again. But you always remember it. That's because each light is different, and some brighter than others. You may see other lights, but they're always unique, and after the light goes out, you never see it again."

"That could be considered both a happy and sad story, depending on the outcome."

"How right you are. How right you are…"

"Do friends love each other?"

"That depends on several things, how close you are and what kind of friends you are. Because as you are aware, there are different types of love and different kinds of friends."

"Can you give me examples?"

"Well, for friends, there are the ones with purely a feeling of attachment to the other, and there are lovers, they have a romantic relationship. And as for love, there is love just between regular friends and there is romantic love, also known as sexual love."

I didn't know what to say so I said nothing.

"Ma cherie, you sometimes puzzle me." He laughed again. I cocked my head to the side to indicate confusion. "It's just the things that we talk about."

"Erik?"

"Yes?"

"I'm getting tired. Will you sing to me? I love your voice, you are an angel."

"Alright, ma biche, let's get you to your room before you fall asleep. But honestly, I am no angel." I think by this point I was a little tired, so I was acting more on what I wanted than what would have been proper. I took his hand and at first I was afraid he would pull away but he didn't. We just walked to my room., hand in hand.

He pulled back the sheets for me to lay down and I did. Then he sat down beside me and began to sing.

"_Bonne nuit cher enfant_

_Quand tu dors dans mes bras_

_Le monde tourne en rond_

_Et le jour reviendra_

_Jours de larmes, de sourires_

_Jours de peines ou de joies_

_Mais ce soir tu t'endors_

_Comme un ange dans mes bras_

_Bonne nuit cher enfant_

_Quand tu dors dans mes bras_

_Le monde tourne en rond_

_Et le jour reviendra_

_Jours de larmes, de sourires_

_Jours de peines ou de joies_

_Mais ce soir tu t'endors_

_Comme un ange dans mes bras"_

I was barely awake at this time. Erik was still holding one of my hands, I didn't let go, but he didn't refuse the contact. With his free hand he stroked my cheek, wiping away the few tears that fell during the song.

"Like an angel in my arms…" He sang to me. Erik stayed with me until I feel asleep.

I was working on my picture of Erik, when he knocked on my door. Quickly shoving it in the desk, I allowed him entrance.

"Did you sleep well last night?"

"Very. Thank you, Erik." I smiled at him.

"May I ask what brought up those questions last night?" Just what I was hoping he would ask. How was I supposed to explain that I was thinking about my relation to him. That would be a great conversation.

"_Oh, the reason, Erik? Well actually I was thinking about us in a sexual relationship."_

_Stop it! _I told myself. _You weren't thinking about a sexual relationship with him, you were merely thinking of what a sexual relationship with **anyone** would be like._

"I was just curious." I said, not really lying.

"That's all?" He sounded skeptical.

"Yes." After I answered this, his eyes seemed to drop to my desk. There was nothing interesting there since I had taken the drawing away.

"What's that book?" _Oh wonderful_ I thought_, Now he'll know for sure why I was asking._ "May I see it?" I couldn't very well say no, it was his book. And I handed it to him. He opened to the page my marker was sitting on and read aloud from the exact spot I was reading earlier.

"'No matter – a girl of your sense will not object to the voyage or the distance.'

'Not the voyage, but the distance: and then the sea is a barrier—'

'From what, Jane?'

'From England and from Thornfield: and—'

'Well?'

'From you, sir.'" He shut the book and put it back down on the desk. "It's a good book, are you at this point in the book?"

"No," I answered without thinking. Because it was the truth.

"Then why is your marker there?"

"Because…" I fidgeted.

"Because you like reading this part? Is this why you were asking about love?" He was incredibly perceptive and it irritated me to no extent.

"Yes…" I looked down.

"Don't be shy, ma biche, love is a very common thing to want, I'm sure you'll find love." He crouched down beside me, "Who wouldn't like such a pretty, bright girl, such as yourself." I could hear the smile in his voice.

I smiled back at him.

"Erik, thank you,"

"Thank you for what, ma cherie?"

"For letting me stay, for giving me a friendship, for…for showing me what love is." I meant a friendly love and I believe that he knew what I meant as well.

"Roxanne…how could I not let you stay?"

"I'm sure there are plenty of other girls in Paris, suffering just as much as me, if not worse."

"There may be, but they're not you. And you're the one who I met. Those other girls will have their chances, this is yours. I want you to learn to be free, to learn what it's like."

"You're too kind to me," I said.

"Would you rather I be hostile?" He laughed. He had such a nice laugh. His laugh was exactly what a laugh should be.

Then out of the blue he asked "What have you been drawing?"

"How did you know I was drawing?" The I realized. "Oh, my hands." My hands were covered in charcoal.

"May I see? I enjoy looking at your drawings." I tried to resist but I have a feeling he could have made me do anything with that voice of his.

"Yes," I opened the top drawer to the desk and pulled out the drawing. He took it from my hands and for a moment he just stared at it.

"Me?" He asked.

"Yes," I said, rather embarrassed that he had caught me. He had caught me twice in one day. First the book, now my drawing. He put the drawing down.

"Roxanne, do you know why you're so beautiful to me? Because of your rosy skin. Because of your brown hair. Because of your sparkling black eyes. Because of your fragile delicate body. Because you are so trusting. Because of who you are." He let his hand linger near my cheek. "Remember when you asked why I lived alone?" I nodded. "I'll show you." And with that he put his hands up to his mask.

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Well, that's it for today! 


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom.**

Okay, thanks for the reviews! They mean a lot!

As for what disease Roxanne has, she has bipolar disorder. It it know for people with bipolar disoder to have characteristics of other diseases, such as schizophrenia.

Chatper 7 (sorry, it's a bit short)

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He raised his hands to his mask. But before he was able to finish what he started, a small bell went off.

"Someone's coming," He said and stood up from his crouching position.

"What?" I asked, very confused

"I have all my passages rigged with tripwires that allow me to see when someone is coming. I'll be back, you stay here, I'm going out but I'm locking the door. You're not to go out." All of a sudden he was quite stern.

And within a few minutes, he was gone.

I went to the bathroom. I stared in the mirror. He was going to show me his face. So maybe it was his face. Since I was in the bathroom, I put my hair up, using several hairpins to hold it in place. I looked at my own face. My rosy skin, my dark hair, my black hair. I was beautiful to him?

And then, another bell went off. One, then two then another, then a few more, and then there was an entire symphony of bells.

People were coming. What had happened to Erik? Where was he? Shouldn't he have stopped them? Shouldn't he have been back by now?

Quickly I ran around, looking for some sort of weapon, something to protect myself with. There was a desk in the drawing room, I pulled open the top drawer. A gun. I had never used one, but I had read about them and I was sure I could figure it out.

Some more bells. I was shaking, I went back to my room and sat on my bed. All I could hear was the silence and each moment that went by, I was more and more nervous.

I set up the gun for use, in case I had to use it. I could hear a clicking noise. It was coming from the front door. Someone was coming in. Erik! He had finally returned! I went out into the main room. The door started to open.

"Erik?" I asked slowly. The door opened fully to reveal a man dressed in full policeman garb. Following him was my father.

"Oh Roxanne, I'm so glad we've found you, I'll take you away from this monster!" He was faking being happy to see me. He sure was fooling everyone, but not me I was holding the gun and it was wrapped in a cloth so they couldn't distinguish it.

"Monster?" I said. "What are you talking about?"

"The beast who stole you! Don't you know?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, look at him!" He moved to the side to allow six officers in carrying someone tied up. He hands were bound and so were his feet. He was dressed in Erik's clothes. Then I looked at his face. The moment I saw it, I began tearing up.

They threw him on the floor and I could see him cringe.

"He gave us quite a fight." My father said, chuckling as if it were no big matter.

I looked at Erik's face. It looked like the face of a corpse. But I didn't care. I simply knelt down beside where they had throw him and stroked his forehead. Erik's eyes drifted toward mine. I could see they were as tearful as mine. But they hadn't been before I came to his side. I think he tried to say my name, but he was gagged.

"Erik…" I said quietly. The policemen and my father watched in fascination and disgust of what I was doing. Suddenly I couldn't take it any longer, seeing Erik tied up like this. My emotions go the better of me. I stood up and pulled the cloth off the gun.

"You're the monster." I said calmly, trying my best to control my voice. And I shot him straight through the heart sending him falling backwards. My father lay on the ground, barely alive.

"Roxanne, you bitch…" He said. And those were his last words. The policemen at first seemed like they didn't know what to do. But then they regained their senses and started coming toward me. I shot three more of them. One died on the spot, one of them fell on the floor from an injured leg and the last I only shot in the arm. But then I ran out of ammunition and they got a hold of me. I kicked and I screamed and I bit and I scratched. At last they managed to control me by tying me up and gagging me the same as Erik.

And one of them stood over us. "The murderers can go to hell together." And he laughed.

It was quite dark as we both sat in the cell that had been given to us. All the others were empty. We sat next to each other in the corner of the concrete floor.

"Erik," I whispered. "I'm so sorry," I began to cry silent tears.

"Ma biche, ma cherie, don't worry so, I'm working on a plan to get us out before morning." Morning was when our sentences were going to be carried out. Since both of us were murderers and there were many witnesses, we both were to be hung.

At last Erik whispered to me again. "Give me one of your hairpins." And then I understood. There was only one guard on duty and he was at the desk in the corner dozing. How stupid, to leave someone such as Erik, a genius, with one sleepy guard. I pulled one out of my hair and handed it to him. He quietly stood up and began to pick the lock. Within a few seconds, there was a small click and the door opened.

Erik walked up silently to the sleeping guard and before he even had a chance to wake up, Erik had broken his neck.

Next to the dead guard on the desk was Erik's mask, some rope, a gun, and a knife. They were all things I had assumed Erik was carrying before he was caught. He picked them all up and deposited them in his pockets. Then he opened the drawers of the desk and found a stack of money. He also checked the pockets of the guard and found a little more.

He opened a window and helped me up and I jumped out. Erik jumped out after me.

"Take this," He handed me the gun and some money. "Come." Luckily this window had been in the back of the police station so no one in front could see us.

It was 2 in the morning according to Erik's watch, so the city was in their beds, sleeping as we escaped. The night was a cloudy one and it looked as if it would snow at any moment.

Erik and I ran past houses and houses.

"Where are we going?" I whispered, while breathing heavily.

"The train tracks. There is a freight train coming through around 2:30. It's going to go to a port at the ocean."

"How do you know this?"

"It always says in the newspaper." I nodded unable to talk and run any more. I tripped and fell into the snow. Erik noticed at once and helped me up. "Come, ma biche."

At last we reached the train tracks, they were right by a lot of factories so we hid between the factories until we could head the train. We went to stand right by the tracks.

"Get on my back." He ordered and crouched down to allow me to get on. Once I was on, I held on tight, but not too tight.

The force of the train created a wind. But even still, Erik took a running leap and landed in one the open cars.

I fell off his back in the car and rolled to the side. I hit a few crates, but I was okay. Erik was already standing.

In the back of the car there was a lot of hay. We both went over and sat down.

"Ma biche," he started, "What do you think of me now?"

"I don't…I don't think of you any different than I did before. Erik, what kind of friend would I be otherwise?" I slowly put my hands up and removed his mask. I looked at him. His eyes were sunken back into his head, his lips were misshapen and his nose was almost nonexistent.

Once again I ran my hand over his forehead and down the side of his face.

"Roxanne, there is so much better out there for you…"

"Not anymore, I am a murderer, Erik. I am shocked with myself, I killed my own father and another man, but I now I am truly free. Erik, you are beautiful in every way, you really are."

"Ma cherie, you do not know what you are saying, I'm hideous. I'm a corpse. I'm a monster.

"I know that when people tell you things for a long time, you start to believe them. I almost started to believe I was insane, but I'm not. And you may not look like me or other people out there, but you are a person. You're beautiful in your own way. And you're more beautiful than anyone. Erik, don't ever let anyone trick you into believing you are a monster."

He was crying. I wiped away his tears with my hands and then without thinking, I pulled him into an embrace. He was stiff at first, but then he loosened and wrapped his arms around me as well.

I could feel him shaking and I was sure he was crying still. I pulled us down into a laying position in the hay and we lay next to each other. I listened to him, his breathing calmed. Our arms were still wrapped together.

"Erik," I spoke his name, "Mon ami."

"Yes?"

"I'm glad we're together." I said and he pulled me tighter to him.

Eventually I fell asleep but I had a feeling he stayed up all night.

It was true, that we were murderers, but instead of going to hell, the murderers lay together, both in heaven.

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And that's it! Thanks for reading! 


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom**

**A/N: Okay, sorry if I made this last chapter seem like the end of the story, because it's not, there's still more to come! Just felt like announcing that so people don't get confused! Sorry for any discrepancies!**

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After about a day on the train we reached the port. We jumped off a little before so that we wouldn't be caught on the train. 

He took my hand and we both leaped off the train, landing in a field. We stood there a moment, brushing the hay off ourselves, trying to make ourselves look reasonably tidy. And we walked into town before went to the port. We each bought an extra set of clothes along with two cloth bags to carry them in. Then we went to go buy tickets.

I did the actual transaction so as not to draw attention to Erik. And within an hour we boarded the ship. We were traveling 3rd class. We didn't want to waste our money on trivial things when we would need our money later.

"Erik?" I asked once we were in our room.

"Yes, ma biche?"

"Where will we go once we reach America?"

"I believe we will stay in New Orleans, that is where the ship is headed. They speak both French and English there."

On the two week journey, Erik stayed in our room most of the time. He came out on deck in the middle of the night usually. Sometimes I came with him. Sometimes I sensed that he wanted to be alone and I left him. As for food, I would go out in the day and bring it back for him. It would have been a dismal voyage, were it not for the fact that we had each other.

I had come to realize that I felt more love for him than the love of a friend, but I didn't know his feelings towards me. I knew at this point that he cared about me, but I didn't know what else. Sometimes without speaking Erik would come in from being out and embrace me. I would put my head to his chest and listen to the beating of our hearts.

Erik usually would only be gone for twenty minutes or so but one time he was gone for longer, possibly forty-five. So I went out to look for him. I stepped out of the room and looked both ways down the hallway. I then made my way to the upper level of the ship. I found him on the back of the ship, leaning on the railing and looking up at the stars.

"Erik?" He turned around, "Are you alright? I got worried?"

"Ma cherie, you need not worry about me. I'm just an old man."

"I don't care, I'll worry about you as much as I like." I walked up to him and stood by him.

Here we were, standing in silence, as two murderers. Two friends.

Last night when we had both returned to our room, Erik lay down on his own bed while I did the same. I wished he was next to me. I wished we were sharing warmth.

I knew he was awake since it had only been minutes since we came back. I wanted to ask him something. I wanted to ask him what he thought of me. But I knew I couldn't for this very reason: if I asked him, he could ask me…what if he didn't feel the same way? What would I answer then? I couldn't lie.

_Erik_ my heart pleaded_ Won't you tell me? Won't you show me your feelings?_

I knew he cared, as I have said before, but I wanted more than that. I wanted pure love. Not the kind one usually gets from a mother or father, but the kind one receives from a lover.

_Love me, Erik, love me…_

When I awoke I found that Erik was up. He was sitting on his bed staring into space.

"Would you like breakfast?" I asked him.

"Yes, that would be lovely, thank you." I picked up my hand mirror and straightened out my hair.

"Turn around, would you? I'd like to get dressed." And he turned around to allow me to change gowns. Once I was fully clothed I informed him and he turned back around.

Then I left the room to go get some breakfast. For the 3rd class passengers, there was a small buffet with minimal things like bread, butter, and cheese and water for drinking. As I was gathering some bread and cheese in a small napkin, I heard laughter.

It was coming from behind me, I looked over. There was a handsome man and a pretty woman, both dressed in rags. The man grabbed her around the waist, tickled her, and she laughed. And he laughed with her. Finally he let go and the woman stood on her toes and kissed him.

I was fascinated. Lovers. They looked so happy together.

I sighed and continued bringing gather some food and water.

I brought it back to the room and I gave Erik his portion. He took off his mask and began eating. I just sat on my bed though, not touching the food. I was thinking about those two people.

But Erik obviously noticed I wasn't touching my food.

"You're not eating." He observed.

"Oh yes, I'm just not hungry right now. I'll be back." I left the room. I had to be alone. I went up on deck. It was cold but I didn't care. I looked out toward the sky. It was grey. The water mirrored it. I went to go stand at the back of the boat where Erik and I had stood last night.

For once I wasn't immersed in Erik's spell. I was thinking of my own family. And the love I was supposed to have received from them.

My mother, she was the first to die. And she was the first I said goodbye to. Then my father. I shot him. My own father. But I felt no remorse. Was it cold of me? Or was it because he beat me enough so that in the case of his own pain, I was hardened.

I replayed the scene in my head over and over.

_"You're the monster,"_ I said and then I shot him. Maybe the reason I felt nothing was because of what he said last.

_"Roxanne, you bitch…"_

My father said that to his own daughter. But it didn't hurt me as much as I thought it would. I didn't care about him thus I didn't care about what he said. His words meant nothing to me.

"Fine Father, you finally got to say what you wanted. I hope you are happy." And I thought that would satisfy me. But it didn't.

The thing was, I felt no remorse for my father dying, but I did feel guilty for killing two of my kind. Maybe it was the fact that I had killed a person. It didn't matter who. I had killed not one, but two people. What about the other man? What if he had a family? What if he had a lover? A wife?

I shunned the thoughts. It didn't matter. They were trying to take me away from Erik. My Erik. I couldn't allow it.

The night we reached New Orleans, the first thing we did was try to find somewhere to live.

After wandering around awhile we came across this old abandoned looking house near no other houses. There were no "No trespassing" signs so we assumed no one any longer owned it.

Erik opened the door for me and I went in first. It was a dark place but at least it was dry. Erik walked around a bit and examined it.

"This will do. Is it alright with you?" He asked me.

"Yes, it's fine. At least we're alive."

"You should get some sleep." Erik said. And he lay out his cloak on the floor and put his bag of clothing by it.

I lay down. "What are you going to do?" I said.

"I'm not sure."

I hesitated. "Lie with me?" He complied. Erik got down on the floor next to me. "Will you sing to me?"

"Ma biche, of course I will." And he sang the first song he had ever sung for me.

The next morning the sunlight that was pouring in the windows woke me. It had been so long since I had seen real sunlight. The sun warmed my skin and I smiled. It was so wonderful.

I looked around. No Erik.

"Erik," I called his name. And within seconds of me calling, he walked in from another room.

"Yes, ma cherie?"

"I need to talk to you," I said. I was feeling nervous but I had to say it.

"What is it?" He came and sat by me.

"I…Erik, I love you…"

He didn't say anything at first. Then he spoke. "I love you as well, ma biche."

"Kiss me." I said. I could feel the desperation within me overflowing and I was sure it was coming across in my voice. He removed his mask. And the moment before his lips touched mine…I woke up.

I lay there. It was a dream. It was just a dream.

Just like the dream, Erik was no longer beside me. But instead of a sunny bright morning, it was grey and gloomy. I stood up and stretched. Then I made my way into the next room. Now that there was some light, I was able to see my surroundings

The house was large but extremely worn and run down. The paint was peeling everywhere, some windows were broken, and I even discovered, when I walked into the kitchen, that the roof was partially caved in.

But where was Erik? Walked toward on of the windows near the back of the house. There was a small river. Then I noticed something.

Erik was standing in the middle of it, bathing. He was shirtless and I quickly averted my eyes. I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. I returned to my original spot. I sat down on a nearby chair and waited. I thought that I should bathe myself as well and after Erik returned I did.

"We require nourishment." Erik said.

"I agree, I'm hungry." And with that, Erik gave me some money and I went out.

New Orleans was a big city and in it I felt a little lost. I had never been out in a city alone before except for those two times back in Paris.

I had the money in my pocket so it wouldn't be out in open view. As I walked, I took in all the different sights, many of them different from what I had known in Paris. I finally found a small market. I purchased several loaves of bread and some of the cheapest cheese I could find. I wanted to buy the most frugal meals I could scrounge together.

Then as if fate was finally starting to go my way, I noticed a small sign. On it were words written in French, allowing me to read them. It was job offering, advertising a job as a maid at one of the manors in the area. I pulled the sign off the wall and quickly I started walking toward the broken down house to go check with Erik and deposit the groceries. When the house was in sight, I ran the rest of the way.

"Erik!" I shouted. And he ran out.

"What is it?" He asked, afraid it was something bad.

"Relax, nothing has happened, it's just this, I found this!" I handed him the sign. He read it over and then looked at me.

"Can I?" I asked.

"Of course you can, you don't need my permission."

"I'm going to go right now. Goodbye!" And with that I handed the groceries to Erik and ran off again.

When I reached the manor, I quickly brushed myself off, and fixed my hair, trying to make myself look as neat as possible. I opened the gate and let myself in. Then I went up to the front door and knocked.

The butler opened the door.

"What business do you have here, mademoiselle?" He asked. I held up the sign. "Oh, yes, the job offering, come in."

I came in. The foyer was a large room with stairs leading up different ways on both sides. It was a very white house. But it was pretty.

I was led to one room that looked like a parlor.

"You may be seated." The butler told me. I sat down on the sofa. I waited for maybe twenty minutes. Then finally someone entered. It was a woman, dressed in a long-sleeved gown. She had the traditional wasp waistline of the era. The woman wasn't particularly extraordinary but I had a feeling that she was the lady of the manor. And she was. After a brief interview, she made her decision.

"Alright, my dear, you have the job. Be here by 7 in the morning. And you are free to go at 5 in the afternoon. Audrey will help you with your new chores and she will get you your uniforms. You start tomorrow morning. Audrey!" She called. A maid with red hair entered the room. "Get this young woman her uniform and tell her what she is to do each day."

"Yes, Madame."

"Thank you." I stood up and followed Audrey to the servants quarters where some of the maids lived.

Audrey was a pretty woman, probably around her late twenties.

In the servants quarters, she pulled a uniform off the shelf.

"This should fit you." She held up a knee length dress to my body. Then she refolded it and handed it to me along with another dress, two aprons, and a head dress. She then pulled from the shelf a pair of worn down boots. "Try these on." I did and they fit reasonably well.

"Remember, be here at 7 tomorrow, no later, try to get here earlier though, you don't want them upset with you." I nodded.

"Thank you." I said. And with that, I was off, back to Erik to tell him the good news.

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That's it :-) 


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom**

Sorry, this chapter is a little short! And in case you didn't read my notes at the top of the page for the last chapter, the **STORY IS NOT OVER! **

that is all

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I ran up to the broken house again. I was so excited! I was a maid! We would have money! I had to work every day except for Sunday and it was fine with me.

At this point in the day, it was still dark and gloomy. Even if the day was grey, I certainly wasn't. My emotions made me feel so light, as if I were flying. As if any moment my feet would lift me off the ground.

It was amazing how something like this could make me feel on top of the world. Maybe that's because of all the other agony I had had to go through. Finally something was going my way.

I could only think of one other thing that would make me feel better than this…

I ran into the house and found Erik sitting in the first room we had found. He was sitting on an old wooden chair in the corner. I went up to him.

"Ma biche, you've returned." I could hear happiness in his voice.

"Yes." I grinned.

"And?"

"I'm now a maid!"

"That's wonderful! But I feel as if I am going to be a hindrance to you with you being the only one earning money."

"That's alright, think of it as me paying you back for when I stayed with you."

"You are too kind to me, ma biche."

* * *

The next morning when I woke up, Erik was sitting in the same chair as yesterday. I had a feeling he was thinking so I didn't disturb him. I just went outside to wash then I changed into my maid's uniform. I said goodbye to Erik and I left to go to the manor.

This morning, it was as sunny as the morning in my dream. And for once it was real.

My entrance was in the back, I was told not to enter in the front. I went in through the servants quarters. I hadn't really taken the time to observe the servant's quarters the day before. My eyes drifted across the room. There were several small beds, all empty, I assumed they had all begun working by this time. It was a pretty dark room, no windows and a small gas lamp on a desk in the corner. Over to one side there was a bathroom.

Just then Audrey walked in.

"Come on, come with me." I did as I was told and followed her. I followed her into the foyer. "Since you're new, you won't have to do really hard stuff for awhile. Basically what you're doing today, is going around and dusting everything. Dinner is at 12 for fifteen minutes. We get a piece of bread and cheese each, along with water. I'll be in the laundry room by the servant's quarters if you need me.

_Bread and cheese! Now there's something I haven't had in awhile!_ I thought sarcastically. Then I took the duster she held out toward me and began on my job.

I dusted vases, desks, and shelves. It was rather boring but I needed a job. I managed to do everything asked of me (dusting) without causing havoc.

Finally it was dinner time. I sat with Audrey outside on the grass. I could tell she was watching me but I didn't let on that I knew.

"Where are you from?" She asked breaking the silence.

"France." I answered.

"Oh, I see."

At this point we were about five minutes into dinner.

"You're name's Roxanne?"

"Yes,"

"A pretty name for a pretty face. I'm Audrey, but I'm sure you already know that."

I nodded.

"I hope we'll be able to be friends." She smiled at me. She had a rather disarming smile and it was perfect for the round shape of her face

From working in the manor I began to pick up English which allowed me to speak with all sorts of people. I found that I was actually starting to get along with people more. As I continued working in the house, I slowly was given more challenging task. I eventually had made it up to laundry duty. And since the owner of the manor had about 6 children, this wasn't something one could slack off with.

We had lived in the New Orleans for about a month now and so far with Erik there had been no advancements in our relationship. We were already very close but there was nothing more than the occasional embrace.

One day while Audrey and I were hanging up laundry on the line outside, I overheard some other maids talking near the other end of the line.

"And he kissed you?" The brown-haired one asked.

The blonde one nodded, a huge grin on her face.

"You're so lucky, he is so handsome."

"Yes, I am," she said and they both giggled. I turned back to my work. This had made me think of Erik. I mean, of course we weren't together in that definition of the word, but I couldn't help but think about it. I got curious as to what other people did for their own…well, love lives.

"Are you married?" I asked casually to Audrey. She looked at me.

"Yes, I have two children, which is why I need this job."

"How did you meet your husband?"

"Well, it wasn't anything special. I was selling some of my family's goods in town, my father was a farmer, and I met him while he was buying some tomatoes. And I guess it all went from there. Why do you ask?" She hung up a shirt.

"Well…there's this man."

"Oh…I see, so you have a lover." She looked smug.

"No! It's not like that." She maintained the same expression and I couldn't help but blush.

"No…but you want it to be." She concluded. She stood with her hands on her hips. "Look, I know what it's like to be in love, I was the same way." She paused. "What's he like?"

"He's just wonderful. He's tall. And he's a genius, he writes music, performs, sings, just about anything you can think of. And he's awfully kind. He is a little unsociable though, but to me, he's anything but. And he has the most beautiful intense eyes. And he has the voice of an angel. Sometimes he sings to me, and sometimes he embraces me and it's in those moments that I experience true bliss and happiness and I get this feeling of wanting to be alive and stay forever in his comforting hold…"

I trailed off and I looked at her. She had stopped hanging things up and she was staring at me.

"You truly love him, don't you?"

"Oh, I do. But he doesn't know it. Or at least, he doesn't let on that he knows." I said sadly. "He knows I care about him and he cares about me, but anything beyond that, I'm not sure."

"It sounds like if he's singing to you and embracing you, he feels the same way you do. It's just because, as you said, he has an unsociable nature he probably doesn't let on too drastically his feelings for you."

"Well…it makes sense…"

"Why don't you try hinting at it somehow."

I thought about this. Maybe if I couldn't tell him straight out, this was the best way.

"That sounds like a good idea." She nodded.

"Now we better get back to work or the master will have our heads." She chuckled.

But I was barely aware. Even as I continued hanging up the clothing, my mind was in another place.

* * *

That night when I got home around 5:45, I was tired, as I was always after work. But I was happy. Tomorrow I would get my pay.

Erik and I ate dinner on the floor. We enjoyed some of the rare fruit that I bought for desert. Pears. The juice dribbled down my fingers as I ate it.

"At work, there's this one maid," I started to tell Erik as I usually did. I would always tell him about something about work. "She's in love with this one man. It's quite charming really, to see how happy she is. But the sad thing is that he doesn't realize it, or at least, he doesn't let on."

He remained quiet. Then spoke.

"What's this maid like?"

"I don't really know her too well, but from what I gather she's really affectionate and she cares about this man a lot."

I couldn't decide on whether he had gotten the message or not.

"What's the man like?"

"She described him as very kind. He's quite nice to her, I gather. I don't know much about him either. She told me how she felt and I told her that she should tell him. But she's afraid because she doesn't understand his feelings, not completely."

"It seems to be quite a predicament."

"Yes, it really is. And she is so happy about the love she has for him. But she is so sad because she doesn't know his feelings."

I had a feeling I was being very obvious. And in a way, I hoped I was.

"Erik…" I said, "If you were in love, what would you do to show the woman you loved, that you did indeed love her?"

"Ma biche, perhaps the reason the man isn't telling his own feelings is because he is unsure of _her_ feelings."

"It's so complicated." I said. "I wish those who loved each other would just automatically know."

"Yes, a lot of people wish that. But the thing is, I have a feeling myself, that two who truly love each other, will eventually just know."

That night I lay awake. I was sleeping in one corner with Erik's cloak. I could tell he was still awake in the next room because of the light that flickered in through the doorway.

Did he get it? Did he understand? I still wasn't sure. I had a vague feeling he knew what I was making references to, but he wasn't letting on. That could be because of what he said, that he wasn't sure of my feelings. Maybe one day we would realize.

I replayed his words in my head.

_"I have a feeling myself, that two who truly love each other, will eventually just know."_

I hope that he was right. I hoped one day, I would find what I was looking for. Love. And along with that love, unity.

* * *

Okay, that's all folks! Until chapter 10! 


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: Nope...I STILL don't own Phantom...**

Okay, here it is! I hope you all like it!

* * *

I had just received my pay. I was quite happy to say the least. It was Saturday and it was I had just gotten out from work.

_"Here you are, Roxanne," Said the man of the house, Darcy Ames, as he handed me an envelope._

_"Thank you sir," I said gratefully, a grin on my face._

_He laughed and put his hand on my shoulder. "You deserve it." _

It seemed as if I was doing a lot of running these days. Right now, I was running to a part of town where things to buy were more abundant.

I reached the street filled with all different people. I slowed to a walk. I was looking for several things. I had decided a couple weeks ago that this was what I was going to do first with the money.

I found the store I was looking for, it was a small shop, but it had just the things I needed. After doing a little browsing, I picked out the items I was going to buy, some paper and charcoal for me and some paper, ink, and a quill for Erik. I wanted him to be able to get back to writing music and of course, I wanted to get back to drawing.

I handed the money to the man at the counter and he made a few marks on a sheet of paper.

"Thank you, Mademoiselle, have a nice day."

"Thank you." I smiled at him. I exited the store and about as quickly as I was running before, I took off to the broken house.

Once again I was flying! And I loved it.

I reached the house and I found Erik sitting in his usual spot, in the old wooden chair. He looked up to see me coming.

"I've brought you something," I said and I handed him the ink, paper, and quill. He looked at the gifts for a moment then he looked up at me. "I just thought you might get bored sitting here all day, and I wanted you to get back to writing music." I smiled.

I had a feeling he was smiling too. He didn't say anything, he just took my hand in his, and that was all the thanks I needed.

* * *

The next day I spent with Erik. We sat in the same room, me drawing, him quickly scribbling down some music. We didn't do much talking, for awhile it was mostly silence and artwork.

"I talked to the other maid again," I said.

After a second he looked up from where he had been writing. "And what did she say?"

"She still isn't quite sure on what to do. She thinks that she'll tell him soon though."

"I hope they find their happiness."

"I hope the same thing."

Then we went back to our separate activities and said no more on the subject that day.

* * *

Next Friday, I was getting ready make my way to the broken house. I was cleaning up before I went home that for the day. I finished dusting several shelves. I wiped my hands on my apron and sighed. I was finally done. I was just about to leave when M. Ames came up behind me.

"Roxanne," he said and I turned around. He was smiling. I smiled back. He was really a nice man.

"Roxanne, I'm sorry to keep you longer, but can you come help me clean something up? I broke a bottle of brandy in my study."

In my mind I was thinking Couldn't you just clean it up yourself? I'm supposed to be off duty! But what came out was "Of course, I'll help."

I followed him to the study. I walked in and looked around. The bottle of brandy was sitting on his desk, unbroken.

"Monsieur Ames? Where's the spill?" I turned around just in time to see him lock the door.

"There's no spill Roxanne." I didn't like the way this was headed.

"Then why have you brought me here?" I demanded, my fists clenched and shaking from fear. I was scared. I didn't know what to expect.

"Roxanne, ma cherie…"

I cut him off. "Don't call me that." I didn't want one of Erik's names for me to become polluted.

"Relax, I'm not going to hurt you." He was coming closer to me, I backed up, trying my best to keep away from him.

"Monsieur Ames, please, do not." I begged.

"Do not? Do not what? What do you think I'm going to do." He continued toward me until finally I was back up against the wall. His face was so close to mine that I could feel his hot breath on my skin. "Do not…what?"

"You know what, please, don't!" I said quietly.  
But he didn't listen. Soon enough his mouth was on my neck. I was trying desperately to push him off to no avail. He mashed his body against mine.

"No! Stop! You're hurting me!" I pleaded and protested but he wouldn't stop. I was trying to kick him, trying to make him fall over somehow. Then I kicked him somewhere which seemed to hurt him very much. He fell backwards, cringing the entire time.

"Roxanne, you bitch…" The very words my father had said to me. I didn't stay to hear anything else. I ran straight home.

When I had left the manor, I had been crying but I managed to stop before I got to the broken house. But Erik could still tell.

"Ma biche? Have you been crying?" He asked, in a very concerned way.

"No," I sniffed. I tried to keep from crying full force, but I couldn't help it. Then all of a sudden, I started feeling panicked. It was coming on again. After about two months with no signs, here it was, back again. Erik could tell something was wrong. He came up to me and put his hands on my shoulders.

I was gasping for air. "Monsieur Ames…tried to…tried to…I..I said no…but he…wouldn't stop…I got away but….scared….I'm scared…"

Erik obviously got what I was trying to say because his eyes all of a sudden got the look of a wild animal.

"He did what?" Erik had raised his voice. I could tell he was mad. Furious. "When I get my hands on…."

"No!" I said. "Not again…we…we…can't run….anymore…no more…stay…with me…I need you…" I started crying even harder. And at this point, he pulled me close to him, but it didn't bother me, unlike the unfamiliar touch of Monsieur Ames.

Erik just held me for a long time. His arms were wrapped around me, in a warm loving embrace and I felt safer there than I had anywhere before.

Finally I had calmed down enough to speak normally.  
"What exactly happened?" Erik asked me. We were both sitting on his cloak on the floor.

I ran my fingers over the creases in the fabric.

"Erik, forgive me, but I don't really want to talk about it right now."

"Just humor me in one way please?"

"What way?" I asked.

"Tell me that he didn't succeed."

"No, he didn't."

He said no more on the subject. He just sat there looking at me. And I looked at him. Slowly, I crawled over to where he was sitting and I leaned against him. He once more put his arms around me.

"Thank you," I said. I didn't even have to say for what.

"You're welcome." And at that point, I knew that there was a definite understanding.

* * *

The next morning Erik was by my side, he stayed by me the entire night. I think he was extremely worried about me. He tried to get me to stay, but I insisted and he finally let me go to work.

But when I got there, Madame Ames met me at the door.

"Your services will no longer be required here." She said coldly.

"What?"

"You heard me, now go on." She said and closed the door in my face. And with that I stormed off. _First her husband tries to violate me then they fire me. Perfect!_

I went back to the broken house. Erik looked up from his paper.

"Back so soon?"

I threw myself down into a chair. "They fired me." I said bluntly.

"What!"

"Yes, you heard right, they fired me." Once again Erik got that angry look in his eyes. And I didn't blame him. I was angry too.

I wanted so badly to break something. But I didn't. I held my temper.

My mind was racing. It did so every now and then. And I didn't like it. Things flashed through my brain creating a slide show of all the images I didn't want to remember.

My father. Me shooting him. Erik tied up. Monsieur Ames. "No! Stop it! You're hurting me!" Me crying. The policemen surrounding me. The jail cell.

I couldn't stop it. Erik realized what was happening and he began to sing his lullaby.

"Erik…" I finally managed to talk normally.

"Ma biche…"

* * *

So now I was out of a job. We had to do something for money but we couldn't decide what.

"What if you sold your drawings?" Erik asked. My drawings? I hadn't thought of that.

"Do you think they are good enough?" I said looking up from one drawing I was working at the moment.

"Is the sky blue? Is the grass green? Of course they are good enough." I looked back to the woman who was staring up at me from the paper.

"Well, I guess we could try it." I said, not really believing that my art would sell at all.

But I was wrong.

Within an hour of me setting up my artwork to sell, several people stopped to see what I had to offer. And they ended up buying a drawing. I was selling them cheap because I didn't want to seem like an extortionist but as the days wore on and my art became more in demand I raised the prices.

Of course, now that I was selling my art, I had to work harder. Both in drawing and in coming up with ideas to draw.

At one point, I had made enough to buy some oil paints, brushes, and a bit of canvas.

And my first oil painting went very well. It was gone within minutes of me putting it up.

Of course, all of this boosted my ego a lot. But I wasn't arrogant about it. It just made me feel good that my artwork was appreciated.

It happened one day, I was selling my art, as usual, when a man in a suit came up to me.

"You're Miss Roxanne?" He said.

My name wasn't popular everywhere, but it was known around this part of downtown. But I still didn't know why this man in a suit was addressing me.

Then I had a terrible thought. What if they had traced me from France? What if they knew who I was? What if they knew I killed my father?

* * *

Annnnd that's it! Sorry it's so short and lame! 


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom. blah blah blah. Same thing you've read in every other chapter...**

Alrighty...here is the new chapter, please don't hurt me! It gets better, I promise!

* * *

"Can you come with me, please?" He said. The man had a wonderful face. The kind you imagine Prince Charming to have. But I was still uneasy. And it must have shown through in my face.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you, I just have business proposition." Business proposition? This confused me a bit. What kind of business could he do with me? I packed up all my things and took them with me as I went after him.

I followed him down the road to a more secluded area.

"Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Gabriel Sully. I'm sure you're wondering why I brought you here." I nodded. "I work as an art seller in New York City. I'm quite well known up there actually." He laughed. "Anyway, every now and then I go across the country to see if I can find certain artists who have exceptional talent, but aren't known as well as they should be."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. If I wasn't mistaken, he was offering me…

"What I'm offering you is that we sell your art together. I get some of the profit of course, but the portion that you get will be much more than what you are getting right now. What's your last name?" He asked.

Without thinking I gave him the last name that I gave anyone who asked. "Dautry. And Monsieur, what of a place to live? I don't have much money." I said.

"That will all be taken care of. Well Roxanne Dautry, what do you say?" He smiled at me. I thought for a second. Then my sudden surprised happiness left when I remember that Erik couldn't come with me. It would be too risky in New York City. It would be too risky to travel, even the travel that we had accomplished, we had to keep him hidden.

"Can I get back to you?"

"Well, that's going to be hard, I'm leaving tonight. How about this? I'll wait for you outside the ticket booth of the train station at 8 PM, if you're not there by 8:30 then I'll leave, but if you're there I'll buy you a ticket and we can leave."

I agreed.

"I hope to see you tonight, Miss Dautry."

And then he left.

* * *

That night when I got home, it was around 6:30. Erik greeted me. We ate dinner together. Everything we normally did. But I was quiet. I answered him in one word sentences.

I wasn't being too discrete about the fact that there was something on my mind.

"Ma biche? What is it? You've been quiet all evening." By this time it was 7:15 according to Erik's watch.

I walked over to him and I pulled his arms around me. He completed the embrace by pulling me closer. We stood there for a second, then I spoke.

"I like it when you hold me." I said.

"I like holding you." His hand stroked the my hair.

"Erik, I have to tell you something." I pulled out of his hold.

"What is it, ma cherie?"

"Today I met a man, he told me that he liked my art. And he wants me to go to New York City with him to sell my art there." My eyes were about to start filling up with tears.

"What do you want to do?" He asked quietly.

"That's the problem! I want to go! But I can't leave."

"Why can't you leave?"

"Because of you! I can't leave you." Tears were running down my face leaving wet paths on my cheeks.

He was silent.

"Roxanne…you have to go."

"What? You mean you don't want me here?" I shrieked. I was so terribly scared. For a moment I thought that the one person I had ever really loved no longer wanted me.

"Ma biche, of course it's not that. It would never be that. I would never send you away because I didn't want you."

"What is it then?" I said.

"Follow your dream, Roxanne. Remember that time a few days after we first met when I asked you what you would do if you could do anything with your life? Do you remember your answer? You wanted to be an artist. I couldn't be out in the open about my passion, but you can. You have to follow your dream."

I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to stay with Erik. But I wanted to go to New York.

"You have to go." He repeated.

I looked him straight in the eyes. I put my hands up and removed his mask. I let it fall to the ground. I raised my hand to his face. I pulled my fingers down the side of his face. "I want to stay with you forever," I whispered.

I could see his eyes studying my face. I ran my fingers over his lips. They were uneven and mismatched but they were soft. I put my hands on the sides of his cheeks, cupping his face.

Slowly I brought my face closer to his. Our lips were but an inch away. Then without thinking I closed the gap creating an unexpected jolt through me and I had a feeling through him as well. Within a second I had pulled away. It was now my turn to study his face. He wasn't angry or upset as far as I could see.

"I love you." I said. After a moment he spoke.

"Je t'aime aussi, ma biche." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. And then he pulled me close to him and held me. I wanted to hold him like this always. "I love you, Roxanne, and that's why I'm telling you to go. Because I believe that this is what you've always wanted. Am I wrong?"

"No, but…" I started.

"Look at me," I obeyed, "Ma biche, ma cherie, you must go!"

"But I can't!" I pleaded.

"Yes you can, and you will. Please, go."

"I can't leave you…"

"Ma cherie, we'll always have the precious memories and we'll treasure them forever. Even if we're not together physically, our spirits will always be. I love you, Roxanne, and at this point I don't know if anything can change that. But you must go. Please, Roxanne, I need to know that your life has been successful."

"But Erik…"

"Please, Roxanne…"

Finally, I decided.

"Alright, I'll go."

"Now hurry and pack your things and get to train station."

I put all my things together. I put them by the door. Erik was standing close by to me.

"Erik…what if we never see each other again?"

"Roxanne, you'll always be with me."

I dropped my things, ran to him and flung my arms around his neck and began to cry all over again.

"Kiss me, one more time Erik? I want to remember this."

Slowly he brought is mouth to mine, but this time, it no longer just a kiss, it was a symbol full of passion, desire, and sorrow.

We pulled away and I let go of him.

"Goodbye, Erik." I said.

"Goodbye, ma biche." And with that, I left the house and began running for the train station.

When I got there, It was around 8:25 and Gabriel Sully was just about to leave.

"Monsieur!" I yelled. "I'm coming!" He turned around, a grin on his face.

"Oh, good! Come on then!" He went back to the ticket booth and bought me a ticket. Then we both boarded the train. It was my first time riding in the actual passenger part of a train.

"What made you decide to come?" he asked as we sat down. I was silent, I didn't really want to think about Erik, but I couldn't help it.

"Oh, well, a friend…told me that he thought it would be good for me."

"You have a smart friend." He said. "You will have so many new opportunities! Your work will be in museums, in people's homes, in art galleries. We will have your apartment figured out and of course you won't have to pay the full price…" He was rambling. I tuned him out and looked out the window.

I would soon be leaving the place where my love was. The one who I loved and who loved me back. Knowing this made harder to leave. Knowing that he felt the same way as I did.

Erik…My Erik.

I was leaving him possibly forever. It was so hard to think that, but the sad things was, it was probably reality.

Gabriel Sully continued to talk, leaving me free to think about whatever I wanted. And what I wanted to think about was Erik. But at the same time I wanted to think nothing of him.

Soon enough I could hear the engine start and then the train started to move, making it too late for me to go back.

I felt so empty. So hollow. Maybe that's what the dictionary meant by "oneness." That you feel incomplete without the other. Because I knew that I definitely felt incomplete.

The train started moving faster taking me away from the one thing I had ever known as love.

Then all of a sudden I thought of the poem…

"_Faintly I smell the color,"_

_"Faintly I see the love._

_Faintly I wish to be in it._

_It's something I was void of._

_'Paint it over' she told me._

_'Paint it with love'_

_Now I sit, painting it over._

_I paint my life over."_

I was definitely painting my life over whether I liked it or not. Vaguely I felt as if I was being painted over without my consent.

* * *

Yay! And that's the chapter! Please don't hurt me, it gets better! 


	12. Chapter 12

Okay, here is the chapter, sorry for making you all wait so long!

* * *

"Your art is incredibly beautiful," Said one man. I smiled and shook his hand. 

"Thank you, sir." I looked over to my side where Gabriel stood. I smiled at him also.

I was at the premiere of my art show at a local gallery in New York. The original idea was to get a couple of my pieces into the gallery but the director of the gallery had liked my art so much that he gave me my own show.

I had been in New York around six months now and I had experienced so many new things, I'd seen new cultures, eaten new foods, felt a new fast-paced lifestyle.

And all throughout Gabriel had been by my side, teaching me about New York and all the things that I needed to know.

When I wasn't selling my art or meeting people who wanted to buy my art, I was exploring the city with Gabriel.

But don't think I had forgotten my love, my Erik. Of course not. Everyday I thought of him and I wished I was with him. The only reason I went was because he wanted me to. There was no other reason in the world. Indeed, I did like my art being appreciated, but I could live without it.

What I wanted more than anything was to be with him, to hold him. To feel his being close to mine. To have our unity.

After the premiere was over, Gabriel invited me to come to dinner with him.

"This late? But it's nearly 11."

"Please, won't you come with me?" He really was a nice man and I trusted him more than I trusted Monsieur Ames. So in the end, I gave in.

We stepped out of the gallery and began walking. The city was still very much awake. I liked it.

The strong breeze ripped my hair loose from where I had secured it with pins. I stopped walking in an attempt to catch my stray hair. Strong but gentle hands tamed it and put it behind my ears. I looked up at Gabriel. He smiled at me. I was a little uncomfortable but I smiled back.

When we got to the restaurant we were led to a booth. I ordered a salad and water and Gabriel ordered chicken.

"Waiter, a bottle of white Zinfandel for the table please."

"Yes sir."

I found eating in front of him a bit awkward. It was funny, I never felt that way around Erik. Erik. Once he was on my mind I found that he refused to leave. I must have had a melancholy look on my face because he noticed something was off.

"Roxanne? Are you alright?" He asked after he finished a bite of chicken. I was jolted out of my thoughts.

"What? Oh, yes, I'm fine. Sorry, I was just thinking." I smiled trying to cover up my sadness.

I think it worked because he didn't say anything more about it that night. On the walk home, we were silent. The night air was warm. It was around mid-summer.

When we got to my apartment, he spoke. "Tomorrow, will you join me for a day in the city? We can walk in the park, see things, are you up for it?"

I wasn't sure if I really wanted to, I agreed. He took my hand and kissed it. "Goodnight, Roxanne. I'll come tomorrow around 10:30." He left me and I walked into my apartment and locked the door.

I changed into my nightgown and brushed my hair but I wasn't ready to sleep. So instead I went to the window. I looked up, but unlike Paris or New Orleans, I couldn't see the stars. I closed my eyes and tried to remember the stars, the sparkling dots of light which littered a black sky. The very thought made me remember one night Erik and I had spent together.

It was the same story that night, I couldn't sleep so I left the broken house to go outside and look at the stars. Of course, they were as beautiful as always. I didn't even hear Erik coming up behind me and before I knew it he was next to me.

I looked at him, not too surprised. I smiled at him, one of the truest smiles I felt I had ever given anyone. And I was almost positive he was smiling back.

Slowly I walked toward him and I put my body as close as possible to his. He had wrapped his arms around me engulfing me in his black cloak.

The night had been a chilly one, but when I was with him I felt so warm. And we stood there for awhile, just enjoying the feel of each other.

I wiped the tears that came to my eyes as I remembered that night. I wondered what he was doing at this exact moment. I wondered where he was. I wondered if he ever thought of me. And that last night that we shared together. Because I did. I could still almost recall the soft pressure of his lips on mine.

And I remembered the night time when he cleaned my wounds that my father had given me. His touch was so gentle, almost as if with the slightest wrong movement I would break.

He had always been so gentle with me. I knew he was a murderer and I knew he was dangerous but I also knew that he was caring. I never felt frightened around him.

I couldn't help it. I was crying. Right now, I couldn't remember why I had left him. He was all the things I had ever wanted. Kindness, affection, love. He didn't treat me like I was crazy.

I took one more look at the sky and then I went to bed. But I couldn't sleep. All I could think about was him. My pillow was getting wet from my tears so I figured it wouldn't matter. I turned my face into my pillow and sobbed, trying my best to muffle whatever noises I made.

Eventually I calmed down. I closed my eyes and I could almost feel his arms around me. Almost.

* * *

The next morning when I woke up I was incredibly groggy. I fixed myself up with my normal morning routine. I put on a simple dress, one good for walking although dresses themselves weren't that great for walking anyway. 

I was fixing my hair just as I heard a knock at the door. I looked at my reflection. I was supposed to be a child but I wasn't anymore. I was 18 and I was a woman. An old woman. I sighed then called that I would only be a minute more. I practiced having a pleasant look on my face. Once I was satisfied with the result, I made my way to the door and found Gabriel standing there smiling.

"Are you ready?" He asked.

"Yes." I answered and he offered me his arm. I took it and we headed out.

We stepped out into the warm air and started walking.

"How about a walk in the park first?" He offered.

"Alright." We went in the direction of the park.

"How did you sleep last night?" He said.

"Fine." I lied.

"Good. Good." A pause. "The opening went well last night, don't you think?"

"Yes." I wasn't really listening. I was hearing and I was understanding and automatically answering the questions with what I thought he wanted to hear.

We reached the park. It was a warm day already and many people were swarming around.

Surprisingly throughout all my time in New York, I was able to ward off any talk about my family. But not today.

"So, Roxanne, you've never told me much about you. I know you come from France, but that is it. Roxanne Dautry, I want to know you." He then stopped and turned to face me. "Tell me about you."

So I told myself this: _Roxanne, now you have to lie like you've never lied before._

"Well…" I started and began walking again. He followed. "I was born a little outside Paris. We were middle class. My father worked as a baker in a local bakery and my mother worked a bit as a seamstress. I also had a little sister. So anyway, when I was younger I always used to paint and I sold them locally but my parents knew that wasn't what I wanted, that I didn't want to live in Paris and live my life out simply. So they put together a lot of their money and surprised me with a ticket to New Orleans. But sadly, a little while after I left I got news that both of my parents had fallen ill. Soon after they both died, both of them within two months. I was sad, yes, but I got over it.

"Then I started selling my art in New Orleans. And then I met you." I smiled in a fake way. But I was sure he couldn't tell.

"Roxanne, you are an amazing person."

"Thank you…why?"

"You can still live your life and remain optimistic despite having your parents deceased."

"We were never really close." I said quietly. I stopped walking and so did he.

"They must have loved you though, they cared enough to buy you that ticket." He started walking again.

"Yes…they must have." I sighed, knowing that it wasn't true in the least.

After the day was over, Gabriel escorted me back home. The night air was just as warm as it had been a day ago. We walked up the steps that led me to the door of my apartment. I was tired. After a day of walking I was ready to go to bed.

I stopped in front of my door and reached into my purse to pull out my key.

"Roxanne," He said. I stopped searching and looked up at him. Slowly he reached up a hand and tentatively put it to the side of my face. I stood there frozen. "You're so beautiful." His thumb stroked my cheek. I was staring intently at him, wondering what he would do next. He moved his face closer to mine but at the last second I turned my head so his lips made contact with my cheek.

"I'm sorry…" He said. "I just….forget it. I'm sorry." He started to walk away.

"Gabriel wait!" I called after him, but he was practically gone. So I just stood there, the key in my hand, totally confused.

* * *

I hope you all liked it!  



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